


ex astris

by hellodeer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soviet Era, Gen, they're space scientists!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellodeer/pseuds/hellodeer
Summary: Engineer Victor Nikiforov receives a mysterious, unusual transmission from outer space.





	ex astris

Down a long, poorly-lit corridor, until reaching the door that leads to the stairs. Then it’s up two flights, shoes stomping on hard concrete, the walls humid, the air stuffy. Out into another hallway, this one spacious and bright, big windows letting the fading sunlight through. Turn a left corner.

Victor is panting by the time he pushes through the big, heavy doors. The mission control room looms large and busy in front of him, men more shouting than talking to each other, their voices booming, laughter ricocheting off the walls. Someone is reading aloud from the newspaper, saying “Look at this! _Soyuz-Apollo docking a success_! What a headline!” to the people gathered around him. The wall-wide screen shows the vital signs of the Soviet and American astronauts.

Victor doesn’t really care for it. He steps around everyone who tries to stop him with an extended hand or smug smile, goes straight to Georgi’s usual seat in the far left corner of the room. He finds him sipping on a mug of coffee, a half-eaten sandwich in front of him.

“Georgi!” Victor says, cheerful. Everyone here is used to his bright, jolly persona; still he tries to sound as level as he can, tries to masquerade the anxious, excited energy bubbling under his skin.

Georgi turns to him, a smile on his lips.

“Hello, Victor,” he nods. “What are you doing here?”

“I need you to come with me,” Victor answers. “Right now.”

“I can’t, I have work to do,” Georgi says. From the corner of his eye, Victor can see the doodles Georgi had been making on his notepad, little arrows and broken hearts and the name _Anya_  crossed out twice.

“Georgi,” he says, leaning forwards and grabbing Georgi’s hands. “Please.”

Georgi frowns.

“What is it?”

“It’s very, very important,” is all Victor says, emphasizing every word in the sentence.

Georgi looks at him, confused and worried. It changes, after a couple of seconds, to an almost pitying look. It makes Victor want to grit his teeth, but he doesn’t; he just squeezes Georgi’s hands.

Georgi sighs.

“Okay,” he says. He sends a furtive look the Flight Director’s way, then stands and checks his wristwatch. “But I have to be back in two hours, or Baranovskaya will have my head.”

“Who cares about Baranovskaya,” Victor says, waving a hand in dismissal. Secretly, he’s terrified of Baranovskaya himself, her scrutinizing gaze and hard frowns.

“ _I_ do,” Georgi answers.

They get Mila next. She works in the new annex building, in an ample room full of nothing but engineers and numbers on chalkboards. They’re trying to send another probe to Mars, bigger and better than the last one, striving for excellence always. The white and grey walls give the place a hospital-like feeling.

It’s a lot quieter than the mission control room. The only sounds come from the scratch of pencils on paper and a couple of men discussing something while standing in front of an enormous blackboard, pieces of chalk in hand.

Victor spots Mila right away, head bent on her desk in the center of the room, punching numbers into a calculator. She insists on wearing a lab coat, because “doctors get to wear them, and I _do_  have a doctorate. Plus, it looks cool.”

It  _does_  look cool. Victor taps her on the shoulder and she turns around to face them, an annoyed frown on her face from being interrupted.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Good evening to you, too,” Victor says. “I need you to come to my office.”

“What for?” Mila scoffs, while Georgi points out that “It barely fits the three of us.”

“You’ll see,” is all Victor says before he turns around and starts walking. A couple of seconds later, he hears Mila hurrying to get out of her chair, her and Georgi’s footsteps following.

They are scientists, after all. Always a curious bunch.

They exit the annex building and enter the main one. Then it’s the maze of long, winding corridors, down two flights of stairs — “Why are the elevators always broken?” Georgi complains — until they’re back to Victor’s poorly-lit hallway and through the squeaky, chapped door of Victor’s office.

It’s tiny. Sometimes he thinks that if he extends both arms, he’ll touch the opposite walls of the room. It’s a tight squeeze with only the computer, the printer, Victor’s desk and chair and himself; add two more people and it seems even smaller, the air stale because of the lack of windows.

“So?” Mila asks, gesturing with her hands at large.

“This,” Victor says. He grabs the stack of papers from where he dropped it on the floor in his haste to go out and call them, presents it with an _a-ha!_  motion.

Mila grabs the papers from Victor’s hands and shares them with Georgi. They both frown as they read what’s written, while Victor taps his foot on the floor, his entire body vibrating with excitement.

“Is this—” Georgi begins. Stops, looks at the papers more closely.

Victor smiles from ear to ear.

“Yes,” he says.

“It can’t be,” Mila says. She looks at Victor with bright, excited eyes.

“It is,” and then they both say it, at the same time: “Aliens.”

Georgi continues to frown. On the paper, the usual 1s, 2s, and 3s of the data are suddenly interrupted by a sequence of numbers and letters — 6EQUJ5.

“I’ve never seen such intensity before,” Mila says. She stares at the papers in awe, then at Victor, who smiles at her.

“It lasted for seventy-two seconds,” he says.

“Are you sure it’s a not a malfunction?” Georgi nods at the computer. “This machine is pretty old.”

The ES EVM is almost an antique, ten-year-old technology mostly obsolete by now. Victor has argued with Yakov many times about it, but Yakov always frowns and says “This is the best we can get you.”

So he nods; it is pretty old. But:

“It’s always worked perfectly,” he says, which is true. “It’s not a malfunction.”

“We can’t say for sure it’s aliens,” Georgi retorts. He’s always been an open book, since Victor met him as undergrads in college. He knows the look Georgi is giving him, has seen it many times: his eyes are wide, unbelieving. Scared.

“We can’t say for sure it’s not,” Victor points out.

“We need to call Feltsman,” Georgi says, voice small. “Right now.”

“Absolutely not,” Victor says, horrified. “He’d tell the military.”

“Exactly,” is Georgi’s answer.

“No way,” Mila says. She’s still examining the papers, mind probably busy with calculations and possibilities. “This is stuff for scientists, not soldiers.”

Victor nods.

“We need to gather information first,” he says.

Georgi groans. He sits heavily on the lone chair in the room.

“Someone with authority needs to know about this,” he insists. “What if it’s the Americans?”

“It’s not the Americans,” Mila rolls her eyes. “They just started working with us, why would they do this?”

“Because they are _Americans_ , Mila,” Georgi says, like it’s obvious.

They argue for the next thirty minutes, Georgi insisting they should tell someone while Victor and Mila try to convince him it’s better to keep it just between them for now.

“We’re getting nowhere with this,” Victor snaps finally, after Mila has turned to shouting and Georgi looks two breaths away from hysteria. “Let’s go outside, we’re taking a walk.”

Victor opens the door, motions for them to step outside. Mila and Georgi exchange a look, then sigh. They leave the room and Victor follows, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Outside the air is hot and dry, the light July breeze warm. They don’t actually walk, just stand with their backs to the massive concrete building, the lights coming from the many lit-up windows casting halos around their heads.

Mila sighs.

“I miss this,” she says. She smiles at them, gentle and sad. “The three of us, together.”

“Yes,” Victor says, very quiet. “So do I.”

“We can have it back,” Georgi says. “If you tell Feltsman you want your design bureau back, he’d give it you, Victor.”

“I’ve told you,” Victor says. “I have no interest in being an engineer anymore.”

Georgi makes a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. It’s easy for him to be like that; people never expected much from him, always the less bright and loved child. But Victor was the golden boy, said to be the most brilliant mind in all the motherland. They always expected him to know everything, solve everything, _invent_  everything.

It was exhausting.

“Yes, but hunting aliens?” Georgi turns that look on Victor again, the one that’s all pity and worry and wishfulness, like Victor is a poor baby and not a grown man making his own decisions. “A mind like yours, wasted on—”

“Excuse you,” Victor says through gritted teeth. “How I use my mind is my own business—”

“Hush, you two,” Mila snaps at them. “Someone’s coming.”

Victor closes his mouth with a loud _click._  There is indeed a figure approaching, heavy boots loud against the pavement, face covered by the shadows of the trees lined against the building. They all straighten their backs, hold their breaths, and when the figure finally steps under a streetlamp it is—

A teenager, blonde hair and a scowl on his face.

Victor’s shoulders relax. So do Mila’s.

“Hey, Yuri,” she waves.

The kid stops in front of them, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“I didn’t know they let kids into the facilities,” Victor says, puzzled. They work in a closed city for a reason.

“I’m not a kid,” the boy sputters. “I’m fifteen!”

“Yuri’s grandfather works here,” Mila says. “At the telescope.”

“I come sometimes to look at the stars,” Yuri shrugs with a jerky motion of his shoulder.

“Do you want to be an astronomer?” Georgi says. He sounds like he’s pretending everything is fine for this stranger.

Victor hates it.

“I’ll be a cosmonaut,” Yuri says.

“Are you named after Yuri Gagarin?”

“Yeah.”

“He died, you know,” Victor says, softly.

Yuri frowns at him.

“I won’t,” he says, with the certainty of invincibility that only teenagers possess.

“Okay,” Victor smiles at his boldness. Then he feels bold himself. “Let’s say you’re a cosmonaut. What do you do if you come face to face with alien life?”

“Victor,” Mila says, her tone a warning.

“We’re just doing an exercise in speculation,” he shrugs at her.

“What are you talking about?” Yuri’s frown deepens. Victor wonders if the frown is a permanent fixture on his face.

“Well, look,” Victor points up and left, to the clear, starry sky above their heads. The three of them follow his finger. “That’s the Sagittarius constellation. Hundreds of light years away, and who knows what could be out there sending us messages.”

“Victor,” Georgi hisses.

“Close your eyes. All of you,” Victor says. They look at him with annoyance and confusion, but he just gives them his most charming smile. So they close their eyes.

“Imagine you’re weightless. You’re weightless and floating, slowly drifting off with no direction in a space so large it’s infinite. You look around and all you see are millions, billions of stars against a dark background. You’re cold. You’re _freezing_. It’s so silent you can hear your own heartbeat. Your breathing is the loudest sound in the entire universe, a universe that stretches on and on forever, beyond what your eyes can see, beyond what you can even imagine. You feel lonely. You are so impossibly alone.

 

 

“But it’s so big out there,” he concludes, opening his own eyes. “That you might not actually be.”

No one speaks for a few seconds. Then:

“It’s not glamorous at all,” Victor says, breaking the heavy silence.

“What isn’t?” Yuri asks.

“Being a cosmonaut,” he says.

Yuri’s frown just morphs into a scowl.

“I need to use the restroom,” Georgi says, and excuses himself to go inside the building.

The rest of them stay outside for a little bit more, looking at the stars and the moon, wondering.

Eventually, Victor and Mila head inside. Yuri doesn’t follow them.

They run into Georgi on the main corridor. When the three of them make it back downstairs, Mila gets to the door first. She opens it. Victor stares at the scene in alarm, key in hand.

“Oh,” Mila says. A sense of dread wafts over Victor: he knows who is in the room. “Hello, major Feltsman.”

Victor glares at Georgi, who freezes under his stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had to tell him!”

“I told you because I trusted you,” Victor says, meaning to hurt. Georgi deflates like a popped balloon.

Victor pushes past him to go inside his office, where Yakov is sitting on the chair, the papers on his lap.

“Nikiforov,” he says, tone mild, an indication he’s seconds away from exploding. “What is this?”

“It’s a transmission,” Victor says.

“A transmission,” Yakov repeats. He pursues his lips. “From where?”

“I have no idea, Yakov,” Victor says.

The vein on Yakov’s forehead jumps. His bald head glimmers under the harsh yellow light in the room.

“It’s major Feltsman here, Nikiforov,” he says. “When were you planning on telling me about this?”

“I don’t know,” Victor shrugs. “Maybe never.”

Yakov stands up, the papers falling from his lap to the floor.

“When you wanted to dissolve your bureau, I let you. When you wanted to start this ridiculous project, I got you a room and equipments.”

“A minuscule room in the _basement_  and the oldest equipment.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Yakov’s eyes narrow, shining with fury.

“Do you know how much I had to fight to even get you this?”

“I appreciate it, Yakov, I do,” Victor says, because he _does,_ because Yakov’s stood by his side even at the cost of his own career. But he also knows the only reason they let him stay was to keep him where he would be under constant watch.

“And this is how you repay me? By keeping secrets and doing whatever the hell you want?”

“You’d tell your superiors!” Victor says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “They’d take everything away!”

“That’s the way it _works_ , Vitya!” Yakov yells. Mila and Georgi look on, dumbfounded.

“Well I don’t want to—”

_Beep, beep, beep._

He stops. All the heads in the room turn to look at the computer, at every button lighting up and tapes turning. The printer regurgitates data every second, pages upon pages of the same pattern: 6EQUJ5.

Victor runs to sit on his chair.

“Mila, catalogue everything,” he says, frantically taking notes. “Georgi, write down the intervals between each transmission.”

He turns to see Mila and Georgi, already busy moving around, following his instructions. He looks at Yakov, frozen on the doorway.

“Major Feltsman,” he says, even. “Close the door, please.”

Yakov looks at him. Sighs. Moves to the door and closes it quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was part of the amazing Star Atlas, a yoi space zine! leftovers and pdf sales are open until january 31! get yours [here](http://yoispacezine.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  
> 
> the art that illustrates the fic was drawn by alice (@babypears)! link to alice's beautiful [art](http://babypears.tumblr.com/post/182176547353/the-drawing-i-did-for-the-yoispacezine-last-year) :)
> 
>  
> 
> obg @DuendeJunior por betar como sempre <3


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